


The Blind Leading the Blind

by hellowkatey



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Daredevil - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, POV Matt Murdock, POV Second Person, Protective Matt Murdock, Strong Female Characters, blind, but mentions of smutty situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellowkatey/pseuds/hellowkatey
Summary: Matt Murdock knows first hand what it's like to live in a world of sight and have it suddenly stolen from you. When he encounters a woman that has found herself in a similar situation he can't help but want to be there for her.Written in both Matt and the reader's POV. Originally posted on tumblr by @k8writesthings





	1. The Quest for a Meatball Sub and a Blindside Attack

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written on another platform so some of the formattings were lost in the transfer. There are a lot of POV shifts throughout that I attempted to make obvious with the use of line breaks. I tried my best and will eventually go back through and edit but until then please excuse any grammar and formatting mistakes :)

The sound of a fist hitting soft flesh is like a text tone now. Matt’s head whips around from his perch atop a building, honing into the disturbance. Screaming. A woman is yelling muffled pleas. Matt jumps up, taking off across the top of the rooftops with light steps.

* * *

 

You had a strong craving for a meatball sub.

Your father always raved about this sandwich place in Hell’s Kitchen. “_The best meatball sub you will ever bless your taste buds with.” _Though you moved back to Hell’s Kitchen six months ago, the deli hasn’t popped into your brain until today. After the six-mile run you went on in the morning, this craving has made you practically ravenous.

It was a beautiful afternoon in October. You slid on a Duke sweatshirt and a pair of leggings and slipped out the door to be met with the reds and yellows of the shifting leaves and the cool autumn breeze. The deli is only a few blocks away, and the weather is too perfect to spend the distance in the back of a musty taxi.

You’re a block from your house when you feel eyes at the back of your head.

You glance back casually and see a man walking a few meters behind you. His eyes advert. He’s tall and buff, but he seems timid by the way he is avoiding your gaze. You’ve been a bit paranoid since you moved back to the city so you brush off your feeling, but keep a tight hold on the pocket knife in the front pocket of your sweatshirt.

Turning the corner, to a smaller street, and all hell breaks loose.

The man from before, the unassuming one is suddenly so close, shoving you into an alley and clamping a hand over your mouth. You don’t even have time to scream it happens so fast. You reach for your knife, but to your dismay, it seems to have fallen out of your pocket in the struggle.

“Why are you back here?” he growls, a faint accent you can’t quite identify at the tip of his tongue. You try to question him, but his thick fingers are blocking any sort of reply. He realizes this and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have come back. You will die for your stupid actions.” He releases your mouth and you take this time to scream as loud as you possibly can. For someone. Anybody. Your yells are immediately met with a shooting pain in your gut, and you double over, only to have a boot smack into your hip.

“Fuck, help!” You scream, flailing your lets at the man to keep him at distance as you try to push yourself back. You’re searching frantically for your knife, wherever it may have flown. Suddenly, you’re in the air, picked up by your neck. You swing at the man, making a solid hit on his jaw and kicking. By the grace of God you land a hit right in his crotch, and you fall to the ground.

A sheen appears across the way. Your knife. Frantically crawling, your entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear, you grab the knife and snap it open. The man is already upon you, grabbing your wrist and twisting it. Shooting pain erupts in your arm and you cry out, the knife falling to the ground once again. You open your eyes, and as if in slow motion you see a fist coming towards you. There’s a cut on one of the knuckles, and threads of blood are running slowly between his fingers. A tattoo of a diamond, like on a deck of cards, is etched in to his middle finger. The diamond is the last thing you perceive before there is a booming pain in your temple, and complete darkness.

* * *

 

Matt drops down into the alley just as a large man lands a major hit, swinging through with a tremendous amount of force. He can hear the movement of air around his arm, and the cracking of the victim’s skull as it smashes into the ground. The man hasn’t realized Matt is standing there, so he takes advantage, charging the assaulter. He jumps, wrapping his legs around the man’s neck and bringing him down hard. Using the crease between his thigh and calf he holds the man in a choke as the assaulter punches at Matt’s legs.

The man manages to snake out of Matt’s hold and practically throws him across the alley. He stumbles into a wall, regrouping his position and charges the man once again, this time with fists landing in all the right places. A sharp pain rings out along Matt’s hip and he suddenly realizes the man is holding a small knife. Where the hell did he get that?

Matt snaps the man’s wrist and the knife goes flying. He kicks him in the temple and he goes down unconscious. Pressing his fingers to his side, the knife didn’t quite penetrate the armor but will make for a decent sized papercut.

On the other side of the alley, a heartbeat goes from a steady rate of unconsciousness to concerningly rapid. Matt whirls around and runs over to the woman that was struck earlier.

“Are you okay, are you hurt? You’re safe now, I’m here to help you.” he is beginning to panic at how fast her heart is beating. Of course she must be terrified, but usually people take a few seconds to realize what has happened before plunging into terror.

“I… it’s dark. Where am I?” she is crying, rubbing her eyes frantically. Matt mentally figures the time. It’s late afternoon on a Saturday. The sun is still up and there is not covering over this alley. It should not be dark.

“What do you mean? What do you see?” he asks. She’s breathing so jaggedly, her breaths hitching in her chest. She’s having a panic attack. Matt falls to his knees, keeping the heartbeat of the perp in the back of his mind but now focusing on the woman. Removing his gloves, he finds her hand, taking it in his. She seems timid to be touching a stranger but leans into the contact after a moment. Her breathing seems to calm slightly and he can sense her formulating a response.

“That’s… that’s the problem. I can’t. I can’t see. It’s just dark. My eyes are open, I know. I know they’re open, but there is nothing but nothing. What. What do I do? I need to see, I need to go to the hospital!” She blabbers, trailing off.

A pit forms within Matt. He immediately pulls her into him, embracing her. Her sobs are muffled against his shoulder.

That same panic and anxiety he felt when he was young at the site of the accident that took his own sight is erupting within him. This embrace he is sharing with this woman is not only for her sake and security but for his. Young Matty was too far gone that day. Those chemicals held no cure and there was no chance for him.

He remembers his father holding him so tight to get him from touching his eyes. The smell of sweat and blood and his father’s aftershave filling his senses, calming him. Among the chaos around them, he felt like the world had paused.

It may not be too late for her though.

“Hospital.” he says softly, pulling her back. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

* * *

 

He has a calming voice. You like the sound of his voice. He’s a stranger, but for whatever reason you trust him immediately. You don’t even know each other’s names, yet you are allowing him to lead you through the city, blind and terrified. You don’t talk as he leads you to a hospital that is supposedly nearby. It feels like an eternity to walk there. He instructed you to hold onto his bicep, and you willingly do so, trying not to think about how you wouldn’t be able to grasp the entire circumference of his arm with even both of your hands. You wonder what he looks like, if he just found you or if he tried to fight off that man. You have many questions, but with the pounding in your head you decide silence is the best medicine for this situation.

“One moment.” he says softly, taking your hand and resting it on a cold metal surface. “This is a bench. Can you sit here really quick, I need to run in here and grab something.”

“You’re leaving me?” you reply, immediately regretting opening your mouth. Your voice sounds small and almost whiney and you hate feeling needy.

“I promise you will be okay, just hold tight.”

Footsteps fade away and you hear the sound of a door opening and closing. Maybe two minutes later the doors reopen and close.

“See? Super quick.”

He takes your hand once again, guiding you to his bicep, but this time the fabric you felt before is different. Earlier it was a tougher material. You didn’t pay much attention to it at the time in the midst of crisis, but the sweatshirt that now covers the man’s arm is definitely not the same material. He must have changed clothes?

The sound of sirens intensifying in volume breaks you out of your ponderings of his sweatshirt.

“We’re here, he whispers, and you walk together through some sliding doors.

* * *

 

Claire is tending to a busted open lip on a young adult when Matt and the woman walk into the ER. She’s lecturing him on texting and driving, but her rant trails off. He can sense her heart rate increase slightly and Matt follows her scent.

Matt sits the woman down in a chair and go over to Claire. She is tapping her foot impatiently. Enviously?

“She needs to see someone.” Matt says quietly.

“Is she a criminal you’re bringing in here to–”

“Victim of a criminal. He hit her in the head and she woke up in complete darkness.”

Claire sucks in a breath, pushing past her blind former flame and kneels down before the woman.

“What’s your name?” she asks softly.

“(Y/N).”

“Okay, (Y/N), I’m going to take you back to triage. I’ll get you all signed in and we will figure out what’s wrong. Take my hand?”

Matt stands by awkwardly, not knowing what exactly he should be doing as (Y/N) and Claire disappear into a room. He settles down in the same chair she sat in and tries to focus on the television playing an old rerun of House Hunters rather than intruding on whatever medical history the woman may be disclosing to Claire.

He was at this same hospital after his accident. They took him by ambulance though, so there was no waiting in the waiting room. There were so many hands grabbing at him, trying to take his pulse or insert needles or open his burning eyes. It was terrifying, living in a new dark world and having to deal with so much action so quickly.

There was a nice nurse named Jamie. She encouraged her coworkers to not crowd Matty.

“Matty needs some space more than anything. We need to let him breathe and clean up these chemicals. The rest can wait.”

He was suddenly clear of hands touching him. Jamie told him verbally everything she was doing as she washed his eyes, inserted an IV, and other procedures that Matt can’t remember anymore. She was his saving grace, a guardian angel at the time.

Claire soon emerges, alone, standing before Matt. He can sense dread in her voice. He jumps up as soon as she comes close.

“They admitted her immediately. She told me she could tell you what’s going on. The neurosurgeon needs to do some imaging but he’s pretty sure she has a bleed that is placing pressure on her optic nerve, making her completely blind. If they can get the pressure down she should regain her sight back.”

“That’s great,” Matt lets out a sigh of relief, but Claire still seems to be holding her breath. He cocks his head, waiting for her to release whatever is biting at her.

“She started seizing. Mid-sentence, just collapsed. It was the worst grand mal I’ve seen in my years working here. Her forearm broke from the convulsions.”

Matt runs his hand through his hair.

“Do you… can you help her?”

“They’re most likely going to take her into surgery as soon as possible. Get the bleeding under control.” She places a gentle pat on Matt’s shoulder. “I know this must be hard for you, even if she is a stranger. If you need to be somewhere I can call you when she gets out–”

“No, I want to stay.” he insists, giving Claire a neutral smile. She nods, reclaiming her hand and assuring him that things will be okay. Matt sits back in the chair and the wait begins.


	2. Darkness and Family Dynamics

You wake up to the smell of antibacterial soap, a throbbing pain in your arm, and thick cloud surrounding your head. The last thing you remember… did I ever get that sandwich?

“You’re awake.” a chirpy voice rings out. Footsteps approach, and a soft hand pats your hand as she raises your bed to a better sitting position. You blink a few times. You didn’t even realize your eyes were open. “Don’t panic, now.” she says just as the soft tones of the heart rate machine begin to grow more ecstatic. “It’s going to take some time for the swelling in your head to go down, but once things calm down your sight will return. Give it time, (Y/N).”

“So it’s coming back?” your voice sounds dry and raspy. You wonder how long you’ve been here. How long you’ve been asleep or unconscious or whatever happened. Where the man that helped you is.

“Yes honey, the surgeon was confident in your recovery. He will be in here a little later to discuss the procedure and any questions you may have then.”

The nurse checks things around the room, or so you assume from her rustling. Her footsteps grow faded but then she stops.

“Oh right, you do have a guest if you are up to it. A man has been back the past two days asking if you are awake yet.”

“A man?”

The one that brought you into the ER. He arrived here about an hour ago and has been waiting. Would you like for me to send him in?”

The entire ordeal, your attack, the stranger, all of it fills your brain. Anxiety presses on your chest, but you agree and give her the go. This man really has stuck by. For a stranger of all people. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t deserve his kindness.

“Hi.” That voice greets you, smooth and surprisingly timid. You can clearly remember his confidence a few days ago.

“Thank you.” You blurt out, and immediately regret. He laughs softly.

“Please, don’t thank me…You know,” his words trail off and there is some distinct tapping as he sounds to be getting closer and closer. “I do believe we haven’t officially made acquaintance.”

“(Y/N).” you smile, hoping that you are looking in his general direction with some sort of accuracy.

“Matthew.”

“It’s nice to put a name to the voice… I may have died out there or lost my vision permanently if you didn’t come along.”

“So you will get it back?”

“So they tell me. Not sure when yet, though.”

“You will get it back though, which is what’s important.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the room. You wonder why he’s here. What he wants. Maybe this wasn’t a debt free exchange. Maybe he’s poor, homeless. Wants payment for his deed. Not that you have much to give…

“I uh, do you have family? The nurse said there is no one on file.”

Your heart sinks.

“It’s for the best they don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“My family is, uh, complicated. We used to live here in Hell’s Kitchen once upon a time. I grew up here. But then I came home to a moving truck and a suitcase packed for me to go off to boarding school without an explanation. I guess that’s why I’m back now.”

Matthew is quiet, almost seems to be holding his breath. The fact that there is only darkness is really starting to dawn on you. Usually in pitch blackness, your eyes adjust and soon the outlines of the geography of the area begins to show itself in faint shadows and tones that are a little darker than the rest. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something you didn’t think you’d miss until you can’t even wave your hand in front of your eyes and sense movement or make out the curves of the end of the bed your toes are propped up against. What you can hear are the steady blips of the heart rate monitor quickening and what seems like someone speaking in the hallway. So faint you can tell it’s words but have no idea what is being said.

Warmth encompasses your hand and the voice seems louder now, more defined.

“Breathe.” It says, and the feeling of circles being rubbed on your wrist are consuming your senses now. “It’s overwhelming, I know, but you must calm down if you want it to get better.”

“I want to see again.”

“You can see. Focus your ears. Listen to the sound of my breathing and match it.”

Labored breaths get caught in your chest but you focus on trying to calm down out of this horrid panic attack and find Matthew’s breathing. As if you’re tuning a radio the flushing of his exhale and the deep swoosh of his hearty inhale fill your ears. In. and out. In. and out.

“Good. Now I want you to take a deep breathe in. Tell me what you smell.”

“What… what I smell?”

“Just try.”

On your next big inhale you pull in the air. Matthew is standing so close you can almost taste the faint twinge of cologne. Or maybe that’s deodorant. Yes, your ex in high school used to wear that deodorant until he decided to stop using hygiene products all together… Soy sauce. All that sushi you’ve consumed in your twenties is a dead giveaway to that smell. I could really go for a tempura roll right now…

“Chinese food?” You say softly, and you hear him let out an affirmative chirp. “And do you by chance wear Degree deodorant.”

“Thai and you are impressively correct on the second one.”

“How you do know about this? That’s the quickest I’ve ever come out of a panic attack that bad.”

“Let’s just say I’ve been in a similar position before.”

“Who are you?”

He exhales roughly, releasing your hand. You worry you’ve upset him, though he was the one asking about your family a few minutes prior.

“There’s many answers to that question.”

“What’s an answer you’re willing to give then? All I know is you must be the Good Samaritan of the year and have nice biceps.”

“Oh really?” he chuckles. You feel your cheeks grow warm and hope he can’t tell you’re blushing. It’s not often you speak so easily to men, offering flirty comments as he sits on the edge of your bed. Granted, it is a hospital bed and you could be staring at his crotch right now and you wouldn’t know but at least you are feeling fairly confident.

“But anyways… just give me something about you. So I can paint a better picture in my head.”

“A lawyer.” he says almost immediately. “I run my own law firm with my best friend. My college roommate, Foggy and our office assistant Karen.”

“A lawyer? What a big shot.”

“Well, uh, we try our best. We just want to help people. Someone’s gotta stand up for those who don’t have as big a voice.”

“Noble. Also explains why you’ve come back, you’re hoping I’ll sue or something right?”

You can hear Matthew shift from foot to foot and pass an object in his hand to his other palm.

“If you want a lawyer then I would certainly represent you, but that’s not the reason I came back.”

“Then why?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

You consider dropping it. You don’t want to scare him away, make him think you’re trying to intrude into his life. Yet, there is something he’s holding back. Something he wants to say, but isn’t. You can feel it.

“Well I am literally all ears if you care to stick around and tell it.”

* * *

 

Already making blind jokes only a few hours in. Matt didn’t dare get into those for a few weeks at least. Apart from her inevitable panic attack, she’s taking this all remarkably well. Maybe it’s the short term nature of her blindness. She doesn’t have to live with this forever.

If she did though, her senses are sharp. She had it down to the brand on his deodorant. He expected her to pick up on the soy sauce as he accidentally spilled some on his pants during lunch, but the deodorant was a pleasant surprise.

Matt must now decide whether or not he is going to go into this story with her. He’s told it a million times by now. People are so curious to know of how a disability came about. There were a few times he didn’t feel like going into the car crash and hazardous materials spill story and just claimed he has been like this since birth. It never ceased to amaze him that people were actually disappointed when he would tell them it was congenial. As if he were depriving them of some tale of a tragic accident they can share with their book club friends over black tea and Chips Ahoy cookies.

Somehow this is different. She isn’t asking about his eyes because, well, she has no idea he sees the same world she does. She’s asking about him. Who Matthew Murdock is. It’s strangely unnerving to separate him from his blindness.

“I grew up here, in Hell’s Kitchen. My father raised me alone, supporting us on his boxing career up until his death. After he died, I was sent to the orphanage at the church. I had just gone blind at the time–”

“Wait, you’re blind?”

“Yeah, uh, I did say I could relate.”

“Wow. What are the odds. Sorry, continue.” she says, and Matt is taken aback by how swiftly that was glossed over. Like it’s a story for later, not the main chronicle. He collects himself and continues.

“I was full of anger in those days. My father left me, my sight was gone. It felt like the world was crumbling around me. I learned a lot though, about myself. About what I truly believe in. What I was meant to be. This nun, Sister Maggie, used to sit by my bed when I would have a nightmare as a kid. She would hold my hand and tell me that God has a plan for me and that all that has happened would make sense one day. As I got older, went to college, got my law degree, that started to make more sense. I opened a firm with my best friend and we began doing what we always talked about– helping people. So I suppose that’s why I’m here. I was once lying on the street in a dark world. My father was there to hold me, though. Knowing what it’s like to have your vision stolen from you, there is not a part of me that could stand letting you wake up with no one to hold your hand.”

“Or insist I smell the lunch you spilt.” she chuckles. Matt feels her hand slide into his. He curls his fingers over hers, his thumb forming a mind of its own and tracing gentle circles along the back of her hand. He didn’t notice it earlier, but her hand is swollen with tears across her knuckles. Defensive wounds. His chest aches as he ever so gently feels the extend of her injuries. The gashes on her fingers. Hairline fractures in her thumb and wrist. He’s surprised she’s not pulling away, even with the slight pressure he’s applying.

A thought occurs to him, and he presses a little harder. He can feel them now, the calluses and scar tissue. Parts of the bone that healed stronger than before.

“Do you know why you were attacked?” Matt asks softly, honing in on the sound of her heartbeat. It quickens slightly, but then slows again.

“I don’t know for sure, but I suspect they want me to get to my father.” her heart is even, unwavering. She’s telling the truth.

“Who is your father?”

***

“[Y/N], it’s time to go.” your father is standing at the door, his keys in hand. It is a strangely domestic scene for your home, as your father is usually not the one home to take you places, let alone be dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. It’s his day off, though, so he told you. He paid for your mother to have a weekend at the spa. You were snooping when you overheard him insisting she take some time to relax. He told her he felt bad for being away from you for so long and wanted to spend some time bonding. She seemed reluctant at the time, but the ease in her walk as she kissed your forehead and got in the car made you think she changed her mind on that stance. You sling your gym bag over your shoulder and exit the house as he shuts the door behind you.

You’re sitting in the front seat, watching the massive houses pass at the front of the gated community you live in. Your house is smaller, not as extravagant as these, but you’re thankful for that. You like not being like your friends with their butlers and nannies. You feel like you are lucky to have a mother that takes such good care of you and a father that works hard but still makes efforts such as these every so often. It could be worse.

Sometimes you think about your old home in Hell’s Kitchen. You miss the city noises and the constant activity right outside your door.

“Your mother lets you sit in the front now?” your father asks, glancing at you as you pause at a stop sign.

“I’m almost fourteen, I’ve been sitting in the front since I was eleven.”

“Hm.”

The car turns left, which throws you off.

“The dance studio is a right.” you correct him, but he doesn’t seem in a hurry to make a U-turn.

“I called your dance studio. Told them you were sick. We have a different activity for the afternoon.”

“What are we doing?”

He sighs. You can see his mind working, trying to figure out what to say. You wonder if you should be worried. Maybe you should text mom…

“[Y/N], what is my job?”

“Uh, you run a bank don’t you? Something with finances?”

“Very good. I run a private bank. Recently, I have gotten a lot of new clients. A lot of powerful clients.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“As a businessman, yes it is good. But as a father, I have some worries. I want you to be safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” You begin to feel a bit more uneasy. This feels like a scene from a TV show or a book. It doesn’t seem like a conversation you expected to be having with you boring banker father.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared, I just want to know. I’m fourteen, I’m not a little kid that doesn’t hear when you and mom are arguing down the hall.”

He looks over at you, and sighs, a glimmer of admiration(?) in his eye. The car comes to a stop and you look up to see that you’re parked in front of a martial arts studio.

“You’re a firecracker sometimes. Use that, [Y/N].”

* * *

 

She tells Matt about her father, his business and how she took a years of self defense classes because he was worried. He never truly revealed what he was worried for and she began to forget about her teenage worries as she grew older and nothing ever threatened her.

He listens, realizations dawning on him with each new piece of the puzzle she provides. Karen was telling him about a bank that was pocketed by Fisk. She said it was the hub for white collar criminals to filter their money through. It was happening on a small scale, just the inner office with a corrupt director until the CFO found out and shut down the operation. He reported the criminal activity and pissed a lot of organizations, mobs, crime lords off. The bank’s reputation was trashed in the papers and the CFO went off the grid soon after. Fisk must have chosen it to be one of his banks of choice because of the desperate need for clientele.

Suddenly, Matt’s ears perk up. There’s noises floors down, muffled yelling and pounding footsteps. The sound of a gun crashing into the side of a skull reaches his ears, and he jumps up.

“[Y/N], we need to leave immediately.”

“What? I–” He grabs her hands, pulling her out of the bed and gently removing the IV from her arm. She winces and uses him to support her weight as she gains her footing from laying for days.

“They’re coming. We need to get you somewhere safe.”


	3. A Leisurely Stroll through Metro General and Blurs of Red

You are running– stumbling actually– through the hospital. You are still blind. You’re being led by Matthew, the blind lawyer who saved your life once and is probably about to save it again. The irony of the blind literally leading the blind is the only thing you can really focus on besides trying not to run into things. Turns out, Matthew is pretty good at dodging frantic nurses and medicine carts.

A few days ago you were lying in bed watching daytime television and wishing that there would be more action in your life. This is not what you meant.

“The stairwell.”

“How the hell do you even know it’s there?”

“Later.” he mutters, and you hear a door swing open and the echo of footsteps.

You are practically flying down the stairs, Matthew just pulling you along. Gunshots ring out from a few floors above and you suck in a scream. You’ve never felt terror like this, even when being attacked in that alley. In the alley you had the control of being able to see your assailant.

The escape from the hospital is quick, but a blur. You don’t know where you are, you just know that you feel your bare feet hit concrete and the sound of sirens intensifies.

The noise. All of it is so overwhelming. There’s yelling and screaming, sirens, car horns honking. You release Matthew’s hand for the sheer necessity of needing to cover your ears. It’s too much, you need to sit down. Your head feels like it’s splitting in two as acid rises in your throat. You need silence.

“[Y/N] bear with me. We have a few blocks to go. I know it’s a lot but we can’t stay here.”

He wraps an arm around your waist this time and begins guiding you swiftly away from the chaos. From the grimy sidewalk to the sounds of fire escapes rattling against howling wind, you assume Matthew is taking you through some alleys.

The walk seems long. Once you’re away from the sirens you quickly realize that it is cold out and you are wearing nothing but a hospital gown and a thin sweater. Luckily the gown is big for you and stops just above your knees but the paper-like material is not able to combat the cool weather.

Another few minutes pass and Matthew whispers that you are at a small staircase. You step up, overcompensating and nearly falling flat on your face. You can feel him holding back a laugh and you want to push him away. He’s ironically your eyes though, so you allow him to hold you up as you remember how to climb stairs again.

Through a few doors you step into a warm room and Matthew closes and locks the door behind you.

“This is my apartment. You will be safe here.” he says softly, placing your hand on what feels like a couch or chair. You guide yourself and sit down. His footsteps leave you, going into another room without any explanation. You lean back into the couch, letting yourself sink into the material. It’s soft, worn. It feels like it’s seen some days.

A tear runs down your chin. You reach up and realize you’re crying. You don’t remember starting to cry. You wipe away the droplets and take slow, deep breaths. Thinking about what Matthew taught you at the hospital you use your other senses. You take in the smell of Matthew that is lingering all over this apartment. It’s a scent you can’t quite place your finger on, maybe like pine? Cologne with a hint of metal? Whatever it is, you immediately associate it with Matthew, the way he smelled when he found you and when he visited today. You took note of how soothing his presence was, how he made you feel safe. Clutching a blanket that is sitting next to you on the couch you let your fingers feel the snags in the woll and the parts that are softer than others. It’s recently washed, yet the patches of rough fabric make you think it was thrown in with a larger wash that didn’t allow for even cleaning.

The footsteps begin to return. You let out a final deep breath and focus on clearing your foggy throat.

“I didn’t think you’d want to wear that hospital gown for much longer. I prepared the bathroom for you, if you’d like to shower as well.”

“Oh.” You feel some soft fabric being pressed into your lap. Running your hand over the top you feel a towel and a wash cloth along with what feels like a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Thank you.”

He takes your hand and helps you stand. You let him lead you into the next room. As your feet hit a different flooring material, you assume you’ve reached the bathroom.

“The shower is here.” he says, bringing your hand to a metal handle. You hear the door open and he takes another step, guiding you to a cold knob. “Water temperature is here. Shampoo and soap are on the wall. Shampoo has a pump top and the soap is a squeeze bottle.

You are both standing in the shower. In this confined space you can really feel Matthew’s presence. His hot breath lingering so close to your face. You have this urge to hug him. Or to kiss him? You don’t know what the feeling is but you want to be close to him. This is only because he saved me you think, resisting the urge to reach out and run your fingers down his jaw line. It’s not a real attraction, just that he’s being so helpful. A hero.

“I, uh, will leave you then.” he stutters, realizing how you’ve been standing nearly chest to chest for a silent minute. He slides out of the shower and you hear the bathroom door shut behind him. Stepping out of the stall you turn on the water and slide out of the hospital gown.

* * *

 

Matt shuts the door, clenching his fists at his own actions. Standing there so close to her was maddening. He doesn’t know what has gotten into him but there is something about her that he is just inexplicably drawn to. Maybe it’s her strength. The way she’s handling herself in this terrifying situation. Matt doesn’t think he would operate this well finding himself blind and a target of murderous criminals. Yet she wipes her tears away and puts on a smile that no one in the room can see, but he can feel.

Maybe it’s because she has been nothing but honest since they met. He’s a stranger to her yet she is trusting and sincere. She listened to his story attentively and didn’t get hung up on the tragedies of his life. She celebrated his accomplishments.

He wants to engulf her in his arms and tell her more about the trials and tribulations of his first days of being blind. Tell her she doesn’t have to hide her tears or the terror of darkness from him.

Unfortunately, allowing himself to become close to her could put her in danger. He pushed away Claire and Karen for the same reasons. For as much as Matt wants to know more about this woman he is so stricken with, he must keep her at arm’s length.

Matt sits on the couch, mostly trained on listening to her movements. She’s in pain, he can tell. Now in the shower away from him, she cries freely. Her head must be killing her as her adrenaline falls. All that action is not the best remedy for a bad concussion and a brain operation. Matt continues to listen, but tries to dial back on honing into her sobs and groans in pain. She saved them for privacy for a reason, so he will only listen to ensure she doesn’t fall ill.

* * *

 

You finish your shower and take your time slipping the clothes Matthew gave you onto your tender body. They’re soft, and smell like laundry detergent and that intoxicating smell of Matthew. You want nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. You feel your way through the bathroom until you find the door and pull it open. The sound of rustling immediately meets your ears.

“I’m, uh, changing the sheets on the bed.” Matthew’s calm voice rings out through the room. “You need to lie down, rest.”

“I can’t take your bed!”

“You need it way more than I do. I have some work to do tonight anyways, so I will hardly be using it.”

You agree, half because his rationale is good enough for you and half because you desperately want to lie down. Your head is killing you, like an axe is stuck in it. You start to walk forward, not even thinking that you have no idea where the bed in this room is. You realize this lapse in judgement when your knee hits the side of the bed suddenly and you crumble to the side.

You hear Matthew gasp and then as if this entire encounter has been occuring in slow motion, he grabs you, rolling underneath you so instead of landing face first on the floor you land face first into his chest that might as well be the hard ground– the man is rock hard.

“I really owe you big time.” you groan, picking up your head off his chest. Matthew chuckles, his hands still placed securely on your waist.

“No, I’m happy to help. I wish I had someone to catch me everytime I would trip over something when I first went blind. This is my chance to be that person I wished for.”

“You had your dad at the beginning, though, right?”

“Yes, and he tried his best but he had to spend a lot of time training in order to get money for my medical bills. There were definitely times he wasn’t around when I would run into a door frame or stub my toe on the couch.”

“People must think you get beat up all the time with all those bruises.”

Matthew sucks in a breath at your comment. “Uh, yeah.” he laughs softly, but there is anxiety behind his voice. “I definitely get that a lot.” You wonder what his strange reaction is for, but the feeling of his hands leaving your waist and him shrugging you off his abdomen occupy you elsewhere. “Let me help you this time.” he stands first and then grabs your hands to help you up. He pulls you to your feet slowly and then takes your hand, pulling it down. Your fingertips reach a soft surface. Silk sheets, you observe. “The bed is here. It’s a queen size, plenty of room but still be careful about rolling over. You get some rest, I will be in the living room working on a case. Holler if you need anything.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed and work your way back to the pillows. “Thank you, Matthew.”

“Rest well.” he says, taking a few steps but then stopping. You know he can’t look at you but you get this mental picture in your head of him stopping and turning back at the doorway. “Matt. My friends call me Matt.”

“Well,” you feel a little giddy graduating to his nickname. “good night, Matt.”

* * *

 

Matt closes the door, but does not set up shop on the couch to go over case files. Instead, he heads straight for the trunk sitting in the back of the closet.

The men that came for [Y/N] in the hospital were speaking Italian. The Italians haven’t been big in New York for years, but Matt has picked up that they are trying to come back. Her father was part of the reason they went under so badly, which could be why they want her so badly. If they get their revenge that could be a big move to reestablishing their presence. Matt won’t allow that.

Once her breathing evens out to indicate she has fallen asleep, Matt slips out onto the roof. He began keeping track of the Italians after they took part in a few incidents he helped stop a few weeks back. Now it’s just a matter of placing the seed of fear into them and they will leave [Y/N] alone.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to find their hideout. He storms the place, taking out six armed guards within a matter of minutes. The sound of the safety being removed from a gun comes to his ears, followed by the feeling of the barrel of a gun poking him in the back.

“Dammit, what the hell do you want?” The man has a deep Italian accent.

“I want you to leave the [Y/L/N] family alone.”

“Or what?” the man chuckles, digging the barrel into Matt’s back. “You are not quite in a demand-making position.”

With that Matt whirls around just in time to push the barrel aside as it goes off. The bullet hits the wall and Matt snaps the man’s wrist, stealing the gun and disarming it. The man shrieks in pain, swinging at Matt with his left hand but missing and instead getting the full wrath of Matt’s boot to his chest. The man goes flying backwards, grunting as he hits the floor.

“Oi, figlio di puttana.”

“Go near her or her family ever again and I will come for you again. And next time I won’t show quite as much restraint.”

“That puttana is not worth the trouble anymore anyways. You get your wish, now leave you insufferable…” to prove the point Matt lands one last punch, knocking out the man mid sentence. He slips out through the back before the rest of the guards regain consciousness.

* * *

 

You wake up in a cold sweat, your breathing labored and the sweatshirt Matt let you borrow practically soaked through. The nightmare inhabiting your sleep flashes in your mind. The man, the knife. The sight of his fist barrelling towards you so quickly. Rubbing your eyes, you lay back down and stare at the ceiling, faded lights coming from the crack in the door in the living room dancing in slow motion movements.

Wait, you can see the lights.

You shoot up again, blinking a few times to test your returning vision. The edges are still very dark and blurry, but in the middle your vision is becoming more clear by the moment. The world is still a ball of blurriness but it’s not darkness anymore. You can make out what looks like a dresser and where the bathroom is. You can see blurry shifts in the colors on the wall and the dark gray hues of the sheets on the bed. You need to tell Matt.

You jump out of bed and slowly head over to the door. Sliding it open, you scan the room, your eyes falling on a blob of red, standing in the corner. Your entire body freezes, the tips of what look like horns becoming more distinct in your vision.

“Hey, [Y/N], everything okay?” Matt’s voice rings out in the direction of the red blob. He’s turning, looking your direction as the red mask slips upwards, revealing a blurry blob of dark hair and fair skin.

“You, what? That… no sense.” it’s like your mouth forgot how to form words and Matt… or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen definitely notices.

“[Y/N]…” he approaches, and you step back, still in disbelief. You read about him in the paper, this vigilante. Even before moving back to Hell’s Kitchen you would stay up to date on local news and followed this story. It both intrigued and terrified you, the prospect of someone going after some of the worst criminals of Hell’s Kitchen. After what happened with your father, there was that tiny thought in the back of your head that maybe he did something that would bring Daredevil to your doorstep. You never dreamed it would be the blind lawyer under the mask.

Your back hits the wall. Matt is close now, standing just an arms width from you. This close you can finally make out what he looks like– something you wondered both while talking to him in the hospital and months ago when you would read about him in the paper. It’s shocking that these are the same person.

You imagined him to have blue eyes for some reason, but his light brown ones now seem so much more fitting. His hair is dark brown and disheveled from bring in the helmet. He’s just as built as you could feel as well, his muscles bulging from the dark red suit he replaced the black scraps with. Concern laces his face, knitting his eyebrows together. He reaches up and rubs his stubble covered chin.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” he asks, his hand now reaching out to you. You pull away at first, which seems to confuse him. His hand is left hovering in the air just inches from your arm.

Incoherent noises come from your mouth. You can feel your heartbeat in your head from a perfect mixture of your headache and the mind fuck that this has caused. It makes no sense, how this man could be Daredevil. He’s blind. Sliding down the wall to sit seems to unsettle Matt further. He doesn’t hover this time, instead crouches down and takes your cheek in his hand softly. His gentleness reminds you that he has never tried to hurt you. You have trusted him fully up to this point, so why does that change if he’s Daredevil?

“You need to talk to me if you’re hurting. I can get a nurse here immediately, or I have medicine or–”

“Matt.” your voice is stronger than you expected it to be. You reach out and rest your hand on his bicep, feeling the same strange material from before he changed when he saved you. Pieces are coming together. “At the hospital you knew where the stairwells were even though you can’t see. How?”

Matt is silent, his hand slipping down from your cheek to your shoulder. He shifts, sitting down next to you against the wall.

“You can see me, can’t you? Your sight is coming back.”

“My mental picture was pretty close actually, apart from eye color. What I didn’t expect was for you to be wearing horns.”

He sighs deeply. It’s quiet for a long time, just you and Matt sitting on the floor. You don’t know what you expect him to say. Maybe that he’s not actually blind? Maybe that he’s one of the gifted? The possibilities seem to drone on. You have a whole narrative in your head, of how he twisted his stories of his childhood to mask his powers when he finally speaks.

“After I went blind, I found out I have heightened senses. Not just being able to hear and smell better than the average person but like, really powerful senses. I can’t see, exactly, but I can form a good picture of my surroundings through smell, hearing, and touch in particular. Like, I can tell you the couple three floors down is arguing about him burning a batch of chocolate chip cookies and nearly catching the oven on fire. He claims that the alarm didn’t go off but he actually forgot to set it and then got caught up in watching Lord of the Rings. He’s was on the part where they meet the elves. It seems he has quite the thing for Orlando Bloom too.

“How–how is that possible?” your mind is whirling at this new information.

“I’m not exactly sure to be honest, it’s just what happened. And it’s something that I have learned to harness and use in fighting. After my father died, I started training with a man called Stick. He taught me many forms of martial arts and how to use my disability as a new beginning.”

“And now you’re Daredevil. You trained to become a hero.”

“I trained for a war I didn’t know existed. I didn’t learn about the reason of making me the way I am now until later. Keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe is a personal motive. I grew up here, lived the best and worst days here. This is my city and I will protect it with all that I have, even if that means being Daredevil by night and working around the law and being a man of justice during the day.”

You surprise yourself by reaching up and touching Matt’s face. He surprises you by leaning into your touch, even with the intensity in the air.

“I used to be afraid of you.” You admit. “I knew my father had been involved in some shady business and I feared you would do something about it.”

“Used to be afraid?”

“It would be hypocritical to believe that the Matt that saved me multiple times, offered me his own bed and clothes, can be tainted in character because he wears a red suit at night. I should have realized it sooner, actually, from the way you moved with ease and seemed to know the ways of the criminals after me.”

“The Italians.” he says, nodding. “They won’t be bothering you anymore, by the way.”

“They say things in the papers. Paint you in a certain light. Knowing you is so different. I’ve never trusted someone so easily.”

“You know who I am. While I hate to put that burden on another person, you are one of very few that know both sides of my life… and that doesn’t bother me like I would expect it to.” Matt says softly.

“I won’t tell. I would never.”


	4. Blind Jokes with Foggy and the Domestic Life

“She knows... about me.” Matt says softly, sitting on the edge of Foggy’s desk. He couldn’t dodge work forever, so he left [Y/N] in his apartment while her vision slowly got better. Matt offered to take her back to the hospital now that the Italians were off her back. The mention of it made her heart race in fear, so even when she agreed he went back on the offer and insisted she stayed. 

“Should I be offended she already knows and it took you  _years_  to tell me you had spidey senses, let alone that you’re Daredevil?” 

“Oh come on Fog--”

“I’m kidding, relax. But really, you have known her, what a week? I’m not saying shes untrustworthy, but can you trust her?” 

Matt sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain. We’ve spent a lot of time together in the last week. Talked about our lives, related to the tribulations of going blind. There’s just this connection that makes me feel like I can trust her.”

“Connection? You have feelings for her?” Matt doesn’t need sight to see the shit eating grin on Foggy’s face. 

“I--I don’t know.”

“They do say love is blind.” 

“ _Foggy.”_ Matt groans in frustration. “While that was clever this is not the time.” 

“Okay, okay. I’ll table the arsenal of material I have stowed away for now. What is it that you’re looking for though?”

Matt sighs, twiddling with the handle on his cane. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up. Partially because she knows who I am and I want to at least be friendly with people who have that information but also because she strikes me in such a way I need to see where things go.”

“It seems like you have things figured out to me, buddy.”

“I guess it makes more sense when I say it out loud.” Matt shakes his head, picking up the case files he initially came into Foggy’s office to get. “Thanks, Fog.” 

“She’s hot, isn’t she?” Foggy calls after Matt starts heading to the door. “How the hell do you always end up with these beautiful girls?” 

* * *

 

With Matt at work, the day goes by much slower. Your sight was hazey again when you woke up, but as you got up and moving things have begun to clear. Your head still hurts like hell, but you remember the doctor saying you should expect concussion symptoms for a few weeks. He also recommended doing some light exercise, such as walking, when your symptoms are managed to help with the healing process. 

Still a little afraid to leave the safety net of Matthew’s apartment, you take a few laps around the living room, stopping to look out the window and examine your surroundings or check out the contents of Matt’s fridge. 

By midday you’ve concentrated on your vision enough to read a page of a magazine before a massive headache decided to erupt on the left side of your skull. You choke down a pain pill and crawl back into Matt’s bed, falling into a deep sleep. 

* * *

 

She’s sleeping when Matt arrives home. He can hear her steady breathing and the occasional snore, which brings a small smile to his face. The word  _cute_  pops into his head, an adjective that surprises him. “Cute” is not really a usual part of Matt’s vocabulary. Shaking it off, he grabs a beer from the fridge and loosens his tie. He sits on the couch, tuning through the different noises outside, but it seems to be a pretty mellow night on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Matt hones in on her. Her breathing is shallow, quiet groans and sighs in her throat. She’s dreaming. He hopes they’re good dreams. From the steady heartbeat, he suspects so. 

Matt sighs, sipping his drink. Restlessly he taps his fingers along the smooth glass of the bottle, careful not to make any loud noises, but internally hoping that maybe the low taps will lull her into consciousness. 

_I miss her_. The realization dawns on Matt just as he’s thinking of ways to subtly wake her up. She’s ten feet away yet he can’t help but want to hear her voice, talk about something dumb or maybe something deep. He wants to hear about her day, even if it’s boring because somehow the way she tells the most mundane of stories is interesting. Oh boy, is Foggy going to let him hear it. 

As if thinking about her waking up somehow transferred over to her, Matt senses her unrest and the slow beginnings of consciousness. To not see like he’s been waiting for this he pads into the kitchen, pulling out a handful of things from the fridge in a last minute panic. 

“Hey Matt.” she’s out of bed just as Matt is figuring out what he’s laid out. A chicken breast, a jar of raspberry jelly, and an avocado. “Cooking?” there’s amusement in her drowsy voice, probably observing the strange array of foods before him. 

“I, uh, yeah. The jelly was an accident.”

“Do you need some help with that?” she comes closer, taking the jelly off the counter and placing it back in the fridge. “With what you have in the fridge you could get away with some avocado chicken and basil pesto orzo.” 

“You’re familiar with the contents of my fridge, I see.” Matt smiles, sensing her cheeking becoming warm with embarrassment. 

“I have had a lot of time on my hands, okay.” She pulls out a few things and sets them on the counter. “What is the extent of your cooking skills?” 

“I’m surprised you trust me to cook at all.” 

“If a twelve year old with the attention span of a grape can operate a stove, then a blind vigilante can too.” 

Matt chuckles, picking up the chicken and smelling it to make sure it hasn’t expired. Sometimes food seems to just show up in his refrigerator. He suspects Foggy or Karen like to slip in a few things here and there, especially when Matt is on a streak of eating Thai for every meal. As much as Matt can function just as a regular person--and even better at times-- knowing when something perishable is left in the fridge is not on his list of abilities... that is until they go rotten. 

“To answer your question, I am pretty good with a skillet. I can cook the chicken if you want to do the pasta and pesto.” 

* * *

 

Domesticity is not what you expected from Matt taking you in. You’re not really sure what you expected, but standing around his kitchen drinking beer and having Matt explain to you that he knows exactly when the chicken is done because he can “sense it” is  _not_  what you expected. Somehow your asylum turned into becoming more of a roommate that hogs the bed and doesn’t pay rent. You can’t help but feel a little guilty, now that you’re on the mend and still here. 

You can’t pretend that you’re not scared, though. Going back into the world, back home where Matt isn’t twenty feet away while you sleep terrifies you everytime you think about it. It’s selfish, you know. The only thing that has kept you from fully convincing yourself that you need to leave is the fact that Matt has been giving you the impression that he doesn’t want you to leave either. 

He offered taking you back to the hospital the other day, to finish your recovery in the presence of actual medical professionals. Thinking of this as his way of kicking you out finally, you of course agreed and didn’t fight it despite the anxiety that flared up in your chest at the thought of returning to where those men came for you. When you said yes, his face seemed to fall and he recalled his statement and it was never discussed again. While the possibility of being annoying or overstaying your welcome is a prevalent worry in your head, the knowledge of who Matt is seems to overtake those worries. 

“Besides cooking the perfect chicken, what else can you sense?” you ask, watching his facial expressions closely to see how he responds to your question. His face remains neutral, but he’s quiet for a moment, transferring the chicken to a cutting board before leaning back on the counter and taking a long swig of his beer. 

“Have you ever been to an amusement park?”

“As a child, yes.” 

“Okay, so imagine you’re standing in the middle of Disneyland, in the busiest area during the most popular time of year to go. You can hear the people passing by, snips of conversations, children wailing, music playing in four different directions. There’s screaming on the rides, people coughing and sneezing, bugs flying around. Something you can picture?” 

The image is becoming clear in your mind. You recall a time in your childhood when you were standing on the side of the road watching the parade. All the action and stimuli was more tiring than the actual walking. 

“Yes, I have an idea.” 

“So that’s a rough estimate of what my senses feel like, but way more sensitive. It took a while to learn how to filter things out, isolate what I should be concentrating on. The nuns used to think I was attention deficit and discussed putting me on medications.” he chuckles.

“That’s crazy to think about. I get overstimulated just walking around New York without any heightened senses. It must be tiring at times.” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s normal to me now. I’ve learned to live with it, use it to my advantage.”

“What can you sense right now?” 

Matt pauses, cocking his head. “A man two apartments over just dropped the spoon he was stirring his spaghetti sauce with. He has three cats and didn’t bother to wash the spoon so his meal will probably be a bit hairy. On the street, a woman just tapped the car in front of her parallel parking. She is panicking and trying to figure out if she should leave a note or not even though there isn’t a scratch. The Thai place down the street just made pad thai, level 5 spice. The cooks are betting on whether or not the guy will be able to handle it or if he will embarrass himself in front of his date. There are... four birds on the roof making a lot of noise. You... you showered today. Accidentally used my soap in your hair instead of shampoo and then tried to correct it but it still came out feeling a bit strange so you just put your hair up. It took a few tries to get it to look the way you want. You had a can of chicken noodle soup for lunch and spilled a little bit of broth on the couch but cleaned it up.” 

“Wow.” you say, feeling your cheeks hot. 

“You’re embarrassed. Don’t be, that couch has seen some shit and even I get tired and use the wrong products.” 

“You’re just saying that.” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“I wish my exes would have lived by that statement,” you grumble, fishing out a piece or orzo and nibbling on it to see if its done. “Liars seem to be attracted to me for some reason.” 

“Maybe it’s because you’re so open. So honest,” he says endearingly. 

“God must be a big advocate of opposites attract then, damn.” 

Matt smiles. If he could look you in the eyes you imagine he would be right now. 

“You’ve got that right. Orzo is ready, by the way.” 

You spoon up a few noodles and find they are in fact al dente. 

“I need to start taking you with me anytime I decide to try some hole in the wall restaurant.”

“It’s a date,” he says softly, and your heart flutters at the idea of walking around town with Matt Murdock on your arm trying risky food joints, no fear of the Italian mob or any other threat. It’s strange to think about. 

If you hadn’t been attacked and instead met Matt in passing, would things be the same? Would you be standing in his kitchen chopping basil and talking about your past shitty relationships A part of you wants to believe that meeting Matt was inevitable from the way he’s changed your life in just a short time? Another part, a part that is insistent on its opinion, says that it’s your trauma that caused this. The desire for Matt to protect seems to be ingrained into him as deep as his ability to speak or run. 

_It’s just the victim complex_. You tell yourself. You’re blinded by his selfless acts. Attracted to him because he saved you... and maybe because he’s quite attractive in person as you found out when you got your sight back. Either way, is that the best basis for something real? You have these images in your head of going on dates with Matt, listening to audiobooks, or cooking together like you did today. Some of these thoughts are a bit... less PG as well, which makes your heart race every time the thought of him close to you finds its way into your imagination. It seems so perfect, this crush you’ve developed. So real. You can feel his warmth towards you. The way he’s become comfortable. He doesn’t wear his glasses around the apartment like he did at first. You want to believe that it’s not all in your head... It’s just... too good to be true. 

“What’s on your mind?” his voice cuts into your mind, soft and deep. 

“You are.” you murmur, surprising yourself at how easily that slipped through your lips. He raises an eyebrow.

“In what way?” 

“Just... I keep thinking about what my life will be like when I’m better. My eyesight is completely restored, my head isn’t hurting. In my mind...you’re there in that close future. Is that wrong to think?” 

He’s quiet for a moment. The low hum of the neon billboard is the only thing you can hear... that and your rapidly increasing heart rate. 

He takes a step forward.

“[Y/N]...” his voice is soft. Careful. You prepare for rejection, closing your eyes for some reason. 

Apparently, rejection feels like gentle fingers running down your cheek, lining up at your jawline. Your eyes fly open and you see he’s crossed the kitchen, his lips centimeters from yours and his forehead softly pressing up against yours. 

Rejection must also feel like soft lips meeting yours, so timid as if you’re made of glass and will shatter at any moment. 

Your brain finally seems to catch up as he breaks the extended peck. This close, you can see the flecks of green and gold in his hazel eyes. Taste the beer still on his breath. Your brain seems to catch up now, and your hands fly up to the base of his neck. You pull him into you, returning his kiss with half of the carefulness he showed you. His arms snake around your waist, pulling your body and erupting a fire within you as those thoughts of Matt that have been pent up within you are suddenly validated in a single moment of affirmation. 


	5. Cold Chicken and the Color Blue

A groan of pain in the back of her throat made Matt pull away. His hands didn't leave her waist, just loosened. She winces and he brushes a piece of her hair from her face. 

"What is it? Did I--"

"No, not you. My head has decided I've reached my activity goal for the day." she sounds so frustrated. Matt knows better than anyone that recovery is the worst. Not being able to do the simplest of tasks is disheartening. 

"You should lie down, get some rest," he says softly, sitting her down on the couch. "I have melatonin if that would interest you." 

"That would be wonderful."

Matt goes into the bathroom, keeping her still rapid heart rate in his mind. It feels like the entire last ten minutes were a dream. That everything, that kiss, what she said, was just a blip in reality. He feels for a bottle with a Braille label reading Melatonin. It's nearly empty from all the times Matt was desperate to sleep but his mind was plaguing him with overactivity. He makes a mental note to pick up some more the next time he's out and goes back into the living room. 

After she takes the pills he sits down next to her on the couch, unsure of what to do. She's admitted she likes him, reciprocated his feelings, and now he's sitting a full foot away from her, not saying a word like a damn eighth grader. Foggy talks a big game of Matt's "smoothness with the ladies". Matt thanks God that Foggy isn't around to see this awkward display and also wishes that he develops the power to read minds in order to know what the hell she's thinking right now. 

_Just make some sort of move. Anything, Murdock._ He swiftly runs his arm up along the back of the couch and turns his body so he isn't sitting so straightforward. He can feel her turning into him, his fingertips lightly grazing her shoulder and her knee up against his.  _Progress._

"We should probably eat that dinner we prepared." she chuckles, syncing up with the grumbling of Matt's stomach. In all the sexual tension and kissing he completely forgot about the now-cold chicken and pasta they spent a better part of the evening preparing.

"We shall do that then." he stands, holding out his hand to her. She takes it without hesitation, and he intertwines his fingers with hers. Her heart flutters just a little. If she had super hearing she would be able to know he did the same thing. They stand at the counter, sharing the chicken and pasta straight from the cutting board and pan. Her left arm is pressed into Matt's right, the heat of her skin against his more intoxicating than the beers they drank earlier. Naturally, he opts to eat with his left hand as to not disturb the pleasant contact they have. 

It's a short dinner, not lit by candlelight or with romantic music playing. She's looking out the window, describing to Matt what is on the giant billboard in vivid detail. It's funny actually, Matt realizes. He has been told so many things about that billboard but never what it actually looks like. From her description, it seems much different than he pictured in his head. 

"Huh." she stops suddenly.

"What is it?" 

"It's really difficult to describe colors." 

"[Y/N], I had sight until I was nine, I know what colors are." Matt chuckles. 

"No, I know. I mean in general. Like if I were talking to someone that was blind since birth, and they were to ask me to explain what blue is, I don't know what I'd say."

Matt contemplates for a moment.

"Hm. you're right. You can describe grass in other ways than green but describing green would be a whole other story." 

"I'm going to be thinking about that all week now."

"Me too probably." 

Silence falls. He can sense her body becoming tired, desiring sleep. He's probably keeping her up at this point, especially with her taking a melatonin a half an hour ago.

"I, uh, should probably get ready to bed so I give those pills a chance to kick in." her voice is velvety and low despite the discomfort she must be in. "Are you going to bed soon too?"

_Now we get to play, is she trying to hint at inviting you into bed, or is she just making conversation? The context indicates conversation. Tone pushes more towards bed sharing, but it's not clear..._

"I'm pretty beat, I'll probably get ready as well." he listens for her heartbeat. Completely level. No sign of nervousness, anything. 

"Let's get to it then." her arm leaves his side and her footsteps are aimed in the direction of the bedroom. Matt follows, hoping to gain more of an idea if they have more time together. That feeling of domesticity returns as they pile into Matt's rather small bathroom, sharing a sink to brush their teeth, her bumping into him when she's trying to get a towel to dry her face. He steps out while she goes to the bathroom and slides on a pair of flannel pajama pants. The door opens and her heart rate spikes momentarily, admittedly boosting his ego a little. Since his chest has become riddled with scars, he can't help but be extra cautious about who is around when removing his shirt. The questions that could come up are a conversation he is not willing to have with everyone. Sometimes it feels good to know that someone doesn't look at him and feel repulsed by the evidence of the numerous mutilations done in his nighttime duties. 

"I was thinking about something else today." he can sense nerves in her voice now, though it also could be the sleepiness... "You must be so uncomfortable on that couch, not just because it's cramped, but I'm guessing you don't own silk sheets just for the hell of it."

"You may be correct. You could be a pretty good lawyer with those deduction skills." 

"I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes... but anyways, you should take your bed back, it's been nearly a week and I feel bad now." 

"[Y/N], you can see now, you'll never sleep with that advertisement. Believe me, I've had friends who've tried. Neon pink apparently is able to penetrate the eyelids." 

"I, uh, you... we could share. Share the bed. That is, if you don't mind that." 

"Do you mind that?" 

"I would not."

"Well, good. I guess that's settled." 

* * *

Lying next to Matt in bed is not where you thought you'd be this time yesterday. Maybe by this time a few hours ago when you kissed, but even so you feel like you're living in a daze... that also may be the concussion having an effect. 

While getting ready for bed you noticed he was putting a shirt on. When he slept on the couch he would always be shirtless and a pair of shorts (not that you were complaining), but now he's fully clad in flannel pants and a Columbia t-shirt. 

"Cold?" you ask and he cocks his head in confusion. 

"No, why?" 

"You've never worn more than boxers to bed until now."

"Oh, uh, that. I just... I want you to be comfortable." 

"You're sweet." You walk up to him, placing your palm on his cheek rubbing your thumb over his stubble. "Don't feel like you need to change your routine for my sake. I'm certainly not going to complain about sleeping next to a shirtless Matt Murdock." 

A mischievous smile breaks across his face. "Oh is that right?" He takes your hand from his face and presses his lips to your palm before dropping your hand back down to your side. His arms fall to the hem of his shirt and he slowly-  _definitely teasing-_ lifts it over his head and sets it atop the dresser. If your head wasn't killing you and you weren't so dam tired you probably would have jumped him right then and there. Instead, you reach out, lightly running a finger over a particularly large scar across his abdomen. He sucks in a quiet breath, probably because your hands are cold, as you trace the outlines. 

"Would you believe me if I told you a ninja did this to me?" 

"At this point, I've learned to just accept the crazy things you say as true."

"You catch on faster than others, then." He takes your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your finger to a bump in his hairline. "This one is the oldest one I know of. It's from when I was nine and got in the accident." Your hand is guided to a valley in his chest. "I was stabbed here." You're brought down to a large scar on his midsection. "I'm not exactly sure what gave me this, but it had something to do with the skyscraper falling on me." 

"Jesus, Matt." 

"It's my life. I try to be smart, not touch the suit for a few weeks and just be Matthew Murdock, but sometimes the city needs me." 

"I know that. You saved my life as Daredevil. People like me need you." 

"I just need you to know that now. Understand who I am and that it's unlikely that I'll ever leave Daredevil completely behind me anytime soon. I've lied to a lot of people and made a lot of excuses that hurt people in a way I can't solve in a fist fight. I've tried to leave the vigilante life, yet I keep getting pulled back in so I'm not going to make any promises of stopping anymore." 

"Matt," your hand is still nestled in his against his chest. You bring your other one up and around him, pulling him into a hug. "I understand. That doesn't mean I won't worry but I hear you loud and clear." 

"Thank you." his voice hitches a little, but he suppresses it by pressing his lips to your forehead. You stand in a warm embrace for a few moments longer before pulling back and leading him by the hand over to the bed. 

"Time for bed," you say softly, sitting down and scooting over to the opposite side. From the location of his alarm clock and the unevenly worn mattress, you guess that his side must be the right. 

Once nestled under the covers, his hand lazily resting on your hip, he presses a kiss to your lips, light and quick. Already falling into a light sleep you roll to your side so your back is to him and fall immediately to sleep.

* * *

 

 Matt wakes up to the feeling of her back pressed to his chest and her hair tickling his nose. It's a weekend, meaning he has nowhere to be but here in bed with her. He senses she's still in a light sleep, a quiet snore escaping her every so often. Matt tucks her hair back out of his face and closes his eyes, pulling her closer to him. He can't remember the last time he had a woman in bed with him in this way-- clothed and smelling fresh rather than the salty smell of sex. There's just something about her that makes him want to take his time. A few kisses were more than enough to make Matt feel like a teenager with a crush. 

"Blue," she croaks, rolling over to face Matt. He knits brows together in confusion. 

"Blue?" 

"An abnormally warm day in February. Sixty degrees and the sun on your cheeks." 

"[Y/N], what are you talking about?" Matt's heart begins to race, believing she may be having a stroke. He knew he should have taken her back to the hospital to finish recovery...

"We were talking about how to describe colors yesterday." Relief washes through Matt as he realizes she's referring to their dinner conversation. Why it's the first thing on her mind in the morning is beyond him. "The color blue is when there's a random warm day in the late winter. It snowed a few days before so the morning is filled with the sound of water dropping from overhangs and cascading down skyscrapers. It's going outside and wearing a coat but realizing that the sky is clear and the sun is out so you wrap it around your waist. It's stepping in a pile of half-melted slush on your way to work. Blue." 

Matt thinks about what she's said. Places himself in all of the situations she describes hears the water and feels the warmth. It's beautiful and as strange as it seemed at first, he feels the color blue surrounding him, it's cool hue encompassing the imaginary melted snow and the reflection of the blue sky off building windows. 

"Blue," he says, planting a lazy kiss on her lips. 


	6. Pick on Matt Day and Accepting the Silence

Matt walks into Josie's, Karen at the bar talking to a few people from the newspaper office and Foggy talking his way through a game of pool. As he sits down at the bar he hears Foggy cross the room and leans up against the edge of the bar.

"So?" 

"So what?" Matt shrugs, a small smile on his lips he's unable to repress. 

"That smile tells me everything I need to know." 

"It's a smile, can I not smile?"

"Oh no, a Matt Murdock smile has become somewhat of a rarity these days. You do brood though, lots of that." 

"I do not!" 

Foggy turns around and yells over a few people. "Karen, does Matt brood?" 

Karen's voice rings out through the bar, amusement laced in her tone. "Is he ever not brooding?" 

"The defense rests." Foggy taps his fist on the bar like a gavel. Matt rolls his eyes behind his red glasses. "So tell me, you and [Y/N]? Is it a thing?" 

"I--it's new. We're figuring things out. That's all I'll give you." To be honest, Matt isn't exactly sure of the status of him and her either. Sure they kissed and spent the day continuing on that path, but there's still a bit of uncertainty to the nature of their relationship. 

"Well, where is she now? You didn't bring her?" 

"Well..." 

_2 hours earlier_

"So kickboxing and Muay Thai both use hitting and kicking, but what is the difference?" her head is positioned on Matt's stomach while he runs his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. They have hardly left Matt's bed the entire day, only getting up to go to the bathroom or get food, but even then it was usually only one of them up at a time. A real lazy day, something that Matt hasn't had in a long time. 

"Well, in simple terms, Muay Thai is kickboxing, but kickboxing isn't Muay Thai. Muay Thai uses elements of kickboxing but then adds more specialized and specific moves. Kickboxing is a bit more general." 

"Interesting. So you know both?" 

"Uhh, I suppose. I didn't exactly learn one art at a time, though. It was very much learning a variety of styles and moves over time." 

"Will you teach me?" she asks. "I know a little bit of kickboxing from when my dad took me, but nothing more than a few self-defense moves that obviously didn't do anything in a real fight." 

"I, uh, guess I can show you a few things, but you shouldn't worry about needing to use them. I'll keep you safe, [Y/N]." 

She sits up, and Matt senses that he may have given a wrong answer. 

"I was knocked out so hard I lost my sight, Matt. That was all before you showed up. I want to learn how to defend myself so that doesn't happen again." 

"It won't happen again." 

"How do you know?" she huffs. "You won't be by my side at all times. You said it yourself. My father has made his fair share of enemies that don't give a shit about how they get to him and who they hurt along the way. Why don't you want me to learn how to fight, Matt?" 

"I did not say I don't want you to learn." 

"You're kind of implying it!" 

"Okay, slow down, let me explain." Matt touches her arm softly, grounding her back. "I'll teach you. What I meant is you don't need to learn an entire martial art to be safe. I don't want you to feel like you need that in order to walk the streets comfortably because being constantly vigilant of your surroundings, looking for anyone that looks at you the wrong way is not the way to live. Believe me, it's how I live." 

"I'm already scared, Matt." there's a break in her voice that makes him want to reach out and draw her to his chest in an embrace, but he holds himself back while she's still a bit pissed off at him. "Even being alone in your apartment, every noise I hear freaks me out. I feel helpless, and I hate it." 

"I saw the state of that man who attacked you when I arrived. You fought hard against him, you're not helpless." 

"I grew up independent. I taught myself how to cook, how to drive. I got myself a full ride to Boston College and never spent a day feeling homesick. I have been practically an adult, taking care of myself, since I was a teenager. Can you imagine how powerless I feel now, living in a man I met a week and a half ago's apartment because I'm too scared to go outside? Too afraid to face the city I was so excited to return to only to have it leave me blinded in an alley?" 

"[Y/N]..." Matt lowers his voice so it's softer, showing his belly in this exchange. "I'm sorry." 

"I trust you, Matthew. You've shown me kindness, kept me safe. You've cared more for me in a week than people I've known for years, but I can't live relying on someone. I need to get through this and move on. I need my independence back." 

With her tone softened, Matt takes the moment to gently pull her to him. She melts into his embrace, burying her head into his chest and squeezing him hard. They sit there for a long time, so long he's almost sure she's fallen asleep until she lifts her head and presses her lips to his. 

This kiss is different than the rest. There's an urgency to it. Emotion. It's more than just a kiss after what Matt feels is the first rift between them-- it's a preemptive apology. 

He still melts into it, running his tongue along her lips until her mouth allows him entrance and he deepens the kiss. Pulling her onto his lap he grips her hips as she moves from his mouth to his neck, running soft kisses down his jawline until she hits a sensitive spot right below his ear. Matt moans, flipping over so she's underneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he makes a line of kisses down her neck and collarbone. Her hands have slipped underneath Matt's t-shirt and are exploring the curvatures of his chest and back, driving him absolutely wild. Sitting up he slips off his shirt and touches the hem of hers. She grants him consent, taking his hand and assisting him in removing her shirt and pressing his bare skin to hers. 

The feeling of skin to skin has always been Matt's favorite part of intimacy. The touch, the smell, the taste- it's a full sensory experience and he revels in every second of it. Her skin is soft, surprisingly so since she uses his soap and products and they have never made Matt feel as good as she does. He runs his fingers up and down her body, memorizing the topography of her body. His touch causes her to moan beneath him, especially in tense areas of her body like her shoulders and back. He makes a mental note to treat her to a massage later and continues pressing open mouth kisses to her skin. 

* * *

One moment you're getting worked up over learning to fight and revealing your insecurities on living with him, and the next your shirt has been thrown across the room and Matt is looming over you, his hands running over your body like he's reading Braille and his lips moving against yours as if they were made to do this. It's overwhelming and pleasurable and you never want it to end. 

You want things to go further. As his kisses trail down your body, his hands cup your breasts and flirt with the band of your panties you  _want him_. Yet, there's a pounding in the back of your head and a little voice telling you to SLOW DOWN that you are trying hard to ignore, yet once again your cursed head injury is being a cockblock. You don't want it to end though, so you push it back, feeling your body override you and begin to show signs of your discomfort. Signs that someone as intuitive as Matt definitely would notice. 

He does notice. As his body rolls off of yours and the kisses are back to center on your lips, you know he's picked up on your body betraying you, leaving you turned on but hopelessly unable to satisfy it. The bulge against his pants let you know that he is in the same predicament. 

When you can withstand a full workout with a headache or the desire to vomit, Matt is totally getting a huge plate of thank you sex for everything. 

For now, you kiss him softly as you lay on your side, his arm wrapped tightly around holding you chest to chest. The comfort of the bed with the warmth of now being under the covers seems to make the both of you a bit drowsy. You roll over and curl into him, legs intertwined and your waist held tightly in place by his muscular arms. Safe. You feel safe and cared for.

But that's the problem, isn't it? The entire reason you found yourself so upset half an hour ago. Matt has been an angel--ironic considering his nightly persona, and you owe him so much for that. Yet, in the heat of it, all the root of what has been bothering you since you got your sight back finally clawed its way to the surface-- your independence. 

It's hard, to go from being completely self-sufficient to placing your safety and trust into another person. It was something you dreamed about at night-- having a significant other to come home to, not being alone all the time. The way that things with Matt have turned out though are all backward. You've practically moved in before even talking about where things stand with one another. You need space. You don't necessarily want it... but you know you need it. 

"I think it's time for me to go home," you say, almost under your breath. He, of course, hears you. 

"What?" His reply is more of a chance to take back your statement than a testament of him not understanding. 

"I need to face my fears. Go back to being my own person and figure out how to move on." He's quiet, and that worries you. You really hope he isn't taking this as his fault or something. 

"Okay," he says finally, despite not seeming very pleased with your decision. "I will certainly miss my bed being preheated when I climb into it." the goofy grin that pops onto his face relieves you. It'll be okay. It will all work out and be how it should be. 

After another hour or so of being held in Matt's arms, you pry out of his grasp and change into a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt, promising you'll return them, but secretly plotting to hold onto the Columbia sweatshirt because it's quickly become your favorite article of his clothing. Packing up the few personal belongings you have, you kiss him goodbye and walk out the door for the first time. 

It's pleasant when you reach the outdoors. Fresh air fills your lungs, making you feel light and refreshed. There's not much activity on the street. A few people walking, talking on the phone or walking dogs. Nothing that seems threatening. You take a deep breath and start walking towards your apartment, pretending not to see a figure clad in flannel pajamas and a black sweatshirt sitting atop the roof, guarding your departure. 

* * *

 

"She has you wrapped around her finger." Foggy laughs. 

"I didn't want her to go home, but what am I going to say, no?" 

"No, you did the _not_ overprotective thing and let her go. You did _good_ , Matt." 

Matt sighs and takes a sip from his whiskey.  _Why doesn't it feel good then?_   Of course, he wanted her to stay. He'd gotten quite accustomed to having someone there when he got home, someone to talk about work to and take up the other side of the large bed. Her scent is probably going to be dripping from his sheets from weeks, driving him crazy whenever she isn't there. Of course, she needs this time to figure things out. He knows and understands this. He just wishes it could be done from the comfort of his apartment where he can run his fingers through her hair on a lazy Saturday afternoon and hold her close at night. Selfish, yes, but Matt knows that and wouldn't impose that kind of outlandish idea anywhere but within his mind.

"Have you, you know, been out at night since she came along?" Foggy asks, his tone cautious. Of course, Matt went out and intimidated the Italians into leaving [Y/N] alone, but other than that, he's been inactive. He hadn't really thought about that until now. 

"No, not really actually." 

"Well, what do you make of that?" 

"What are you drinking Fog, you're getting all philosophical and inquisitive on me." 

"Gin... I think? Josie, what the hell am I drinking... also not the point, don't try and deflect." 

"Is 'I don't know' an acceptable answer because to be honest, I really don't know what to make of it. Sometimes Hell's Kitchen is quiet. The police have things covered, there's no Fisk or Frank roaming the streets. I guess this time it has coincided with [Y/N] being with me." 

"Could be." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matt challenges. 

"Just means you could be right. Or being with [Y/N] is reminding you that you don't need The Devil to feel like a hero. Matt Murdock can be one too." 

"Seriously, Josie what is he drinking?"

Foggy places a hand on Matt's shoulder, showing him he's serious. Matt sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey. "I almost lost my best friend and this is the first time I'm seeing more Matt than Daredevil in you. It's nice, man. I've missed having Matt around. Whether it's crime being slow or this girl being a secret miracle worker, you seem happier, less bruised too. I hope you'll stick around." Foggy squeezes Matt's shoulder before returning back to his game of pool, leaving Matt with an empty glass of whiskey and a warm feeling in his gut. He's missed nights at Josie's with Foggy and Karen. There's been so much tension between them since learning his identity and tonight finally feels like the air is finally clearing. 

Maybe Foggy is right, though he won't let him know that. [Y/N] has brought out the best in Matt so far. Honesty, openness. Qualities that Matt has struggled with since becoming Daredevil... hell, since he realized the extent of his senses. 

Matt stands, pushing the empty glass back for Josie and squeezing Karen's shoulder on the way out of the bar. Across the bar, Foggy smiles, watching as Matt whips out his cane and starts walking in the opposite direction of his apartment. 

The streets are bustling at this time on a weekend. Friends drunkenly stumbling from bar to bar, lovers on the way back from dates whispering sweet nothings in one another's ears. A night so loud, yet there's a tame undertone to it. Car doors slam followed by nervous laughter of a first date. Screams protrude from apartment windows, some of passion and some of children being chased by siblings or babysitters. Matt smiles, relief washing through him. They say a quiet night is just the city holding its breath. Something big will come, and it will come down hard. Between the Hand, Fisk, and Frank Castle, somehow whatever comes and seduces Matt back to the devil doesn't seem so scary. For now, he will accept the quiet. Take advantage of the free night. 

He knocks on a door. It's a small basement apartment on the edge of Hell's Kitchen, nestled beneath a rather upscale home though he can tell the space is quite modest, made for a building super. There's shuffling within the apartment, the sound of a body pressing against the door to peer through a peephole and a small gasp. 

"Matt?" she says as the door opens. "What are you doing here?" 

He casts his cane against the wall and takes off his glasses, placing them in his pocket. Stepping forward, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply. Surprised at first, she regains composure and wraps her arms around his. Matt ceases the kiss, planting two pecks on her lips and a final kiss on her forehead before stepping back and putting his glasses back on. 

"I didn't get to kiss you goodnight." 

 

"So you walked to the other side of Hell's Kitchen to do so?" Matt shrugs, picking up his cane. "Matthew Murdock, you're unbelievable." 

"In a good way, I hope." he smiles, leaning against his cane. 

"I, uh, would you like to come in?" she asks, opening the door wider.

"As much as I would like to, I'm inclined to honor your need for space. Besides, three blocks away, two men are currently discussing stealing a Ferrari so I should probably get going before some poor rich bastard embarasses himself in front of his date." 

She chuckles, a slight twinge of confusion in her voice. She probably isn't sure if Matt is being serious. He decides it's better if he leaves that up to her imagination. 

"Well, be careful."

"I always am." 

"Your superhero name is  _Daredevil_. That is literally the antonym of careful." 

"Details." Matt laughs, kissing her cheek one last time before heading up the stairs. 

"Oh and Matt?" she calls when he reaches the top. He stops, looking back in the direction of her voice. "Kick some ass." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of The Blind Leading the Blind. Thank you for reading and for those who left kudos and comments! This originally was going to be a one-shot, but I got kind of into it and thus, 6 chapters later, here we are. I appreciate all of you and I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I had fun writing this.


End file.
